


The Tale of Eärendil and Elwing

by actuallyfeanor



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bechdel Test Pass, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fall of Gondolin, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kids with too much responsibility, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Third Kinslaying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 11:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/pseuds/actuallyfeanor
Summary: Elwing escapes the Sack of Doriath and comes to the Havens of Sirion, hoping to start a new life there, but the past threatens to catch up with her. Eärendil, forced to flee Gondolin, arrives at the Havens to find a strange girl who carries a Silmaril with her wherever she goes.





	The Tale of Eärendil and Elwing

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my mind for quite some time, and finally it is in writing.

Menegroth: She is curled up in a corner of the Grand Hall, shielded from view by the lifeless body of her mother. In death, Nimloth looks strangely serene, but the bright splash of blood covering her chest and abdomen tells a different story. There is fighting in the Hall; her father is locked in combat with a cruel-looking, pale-haired warrior, the same one who so carelessly ran his sword through Nimloth. Distant sounds of fighting can be heard from outside the Hall too, but she pays them no heed. Nothing else matters but the metal-upon-metal sound of Dior Eluchil fighting for his life, a Silmaril blazing upon his chest. The pale-haired elf is cleary an experienced fighter, but Dior moves with the easy grace of the Eldar and the strength of the Edain, so the two of them are evenly matched. Like dancers, Elwing thinks. Yet they both seem to be growing tired, their movements slower, less precise. Suddenly pale-hair speaks, shouting to make himself heard over the clanging of the swords: "Give it up now, kingling, and your life will be spared!"

"Indeed? Like you spared my wife?" With an effort Dior brings his sword up to parry a blow, and in that very moment, white fire blazes forth from the Silmaril. The next instant, pale-hair staggers backwards, Dior's sword embedded in his chest. With an audible thud and an air of finality, his body hits the bloodstained floor and only his dying gasps can be heard in the sudden silence.

After a while she creeps forth from her hiding place, keeping a wary eye on the pale-haired corpse in case it should prove to be a trick. Only when she taps his leg does Dior, breathing heavily and leaning upon his sword, notice her. "Elwing! You need to get away from here!" He kneels down, takes the Naglaumir from around his neck and fastens it around hers, slipping the Silmaril underneath her silvery tunic. She can feel it humming with life against her bare skin.

"Take this. It will protect you. The Lady of Stars herself has blessed it"

"But Ada," Elwing protests, "what will keep you safe?" A wistful look passes over Dior's face. His eyes flicker towards the corner where Nimloth lies.

"As long as I know that you are safe, nothing can hurt me. I will find your brothers, and then I will come for you, but for now you must be a brave girl and run. There will be people hiding in the woods. Find them, and make for the Havens. You are of the blood of Luthien; they will follow where you lead." He kisses her on the forehead before pushing her towards the door at the far end of the Hall. Elwing runs. However, she doesn’t quite reach the door before she is aware that someone else has entered the Hall, through the door at the opposite end. Elwing throws herself down on the floor almost instinctively, hoping that the newcomer hasn’t seen her. But the man who strides through the door has eyes only for the pale-haired corpse on the floor.

“Tyelko!” He kneels by the body, speaking in a language Elwing does not understand, probably feeling for a pulse or any other sign of life, and finding none. He lets out a cry of anguish and rises up in his full height. Elwing notices that he is very tall, much taller than any other elf she has seen, and that his hair, though matted with dirt and blood, is the colour of copper.

He takes a step towards Dior: “You! You killed my brother!”

Dior has barely time to bring up his own sword before copper-hair has drawn his in one fluid motion. The stranger fights with his left hand, Elwing notices. She has never seen anyone do that before. The fight is over almost before it has begun. Dior tries to block an attack with his sword, but he is clearly off balance. Quick as a snake, copper-hair strikes at Dior’s throat, slicing it open in a spray of blood.

Holding back tears, Elwing knows that she has to get away, so she slowly starts crawling towards the door as the stranger’s eyes are turned towards his brother’s corpse. She almost makes it to the door, but in the dead silence, the faint scuffle of her feet against the floor gives her away. The tall elf looks up and startles at the sight of her, but he quickly regains his composure.

"Don't be afraid, child. I mean no harm." His eyes are almost kind. Almost, but not quite. There is a hard glint there, and she does not trust him for one second. His clothes are stained red with the blood of Elwing's family, of her friends. Her pulse is ringing in her ears and she feels dizzy. The Silmaril is burning against her chest and she hopes he won’t see it shining through her clothes. _Be brave. You are of the blood of Luthien._ Running is not an option, he would catch her before she reached the door. _What would Luthien do?_

Elwing screams. At the top of her voice, almost loudly enough to wake the dead. She pictures trees toppling, mountains crumbling, the very earth shaking, as she pours all her rage into making as much noise as possible. She is dimly aware that it might attract more enemies, but she has nothing to lose. The man in front of her is clearly taken aback. Good, she thinks. Then footsteps can be heard in the corridor behind her, and strong arms encircle her from behind. She dimly recognises Angborn, one of her father's men. To her left is Nellas, spattered with blood and wielding a bow, the arrow pointing straight at the copper-haired man. There are others around her too, all of them with bows at the ready.

“You leave her alone, Kinslayer!” Nellas’ voice rings out in the Hall. “One step closer, and you are dead.” Behind copper-hair, more enemy soldiers are filing in through the open door. The archers loose their arrows at the newcomers, but Elwing loses sight of what happens next as Angborn turns and dashes out into the hallway, closely followed by Nellas.

The rest of the flight is a blur. At some point Nellas is the one carrying her, as Angborn draws out his sword to cut down three soldiers standing in a way, and then they have horses and are dashing through the forest at a breakneck speed, Elwing clinging tightly to Angborn.. For a while they are pursued by a group of soldiers, but Nellas takes out two of them with a couple of well-placed arrows, and the pursuers fall back. After a while the horses slow to a walk, then stop, and Elwing sees that others have joined them, either on foot or on horseback. They are bloodied, scared, worried, and yet they look at her with hope in their eyes. _These are my people now_ , she realises. She has to protect them somehow, but at the moment she feels very tiny, very alone and very tired.

She slides off the back of the horse, scraping her knee as she stumbles on a tree root. The people around her fall silent, making a space for her. She gets up, tries to stand tall and proud like Nimloth once tried to teach her. _You are of the blood of Luthien_ , she reminds herself, and then, remembering Dior’s words, she issues her first command to her people.

“We follow the river and make for the Havens of Sirion. There my kinsman Círdan will welcome us.” Then exhaustion overtakes her, and she crumples to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> The Silmarillion only states specifically that Celegorm was killed by Dior, without specifying who in turn killed Dior, so I've taken some liberties there. The idea that Maedhros was the one to kill Dior makes Elwing's later decision not to surrender the Silmaril to him a lot more logical in my opinion.


End file.
